


Life on Mars Tumblr Ficlets

by Loz



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Fear, Ficlets, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Teasing, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 00:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: Sometimes I ask for prompts on tumblr and these are the results.





	1. Chapter 1

**(things you said when you were scared)**

“That was unexpected,” Sam says, pressing his fingers against his lower lip and staring at Gene across the dusty air of Lost & Found.

“It was? You’re my DI and you’d no idea this was gonna happen?”

“I mean, I thought it _could_ , but not like this.”

Gene narrows his eyes at Sam, and Sam can’t help but think about how long and dark his eyelashes look, how green his eyes are in the murky light. It’s possible he’s gone into shock.

“How’d you think, then?” Gene asks, leaning closer. 

Sam’s never really found Gene imposing before, despite Gene’s best efforts, but at this very moment, he feels small against the hulk of Gene’s stature. 

“I dunno,” Sam says, shrugging. “After one too many at the Railway Arms? After a fight in a damp, dark alleyway? Before you’d insist it was a mistake and it’d never happen again?”

“You underestimate me, Sammy-boy,” Gene says. “I’m mildly insulted.”

“Only mildly,” Sam says, flat.

“It’d take a lot of effort for you to make a dent in me,” Gene says, eyes glittering. He rocks back on his heel, reclines against the brick wall. “So, you said this was unexpected, but you didn’t say anything about unwelcome.”

Sam bites his lip, glances at the floor, takes a deep breath. He needs to collect himself. He needs to readjust his preconceptions and think about Gene’s done, what he’s said. Because, actually, now that he thinks about it – about the confidences they’ve shared and the experiences they’ve been through together, and the relationship they’ve worked towards – Gene kissing him softly after a case discussion and joint rifle through files isn’t so unbelievable. If he’d truly considered all the clues, he’d have seen this coming a mile off. When it comes down to it, he trusts Gene. He trusts him with his life, with limb, and he can be brave enough to trust him with his heart.

Sam draws himself to his full height, stares Gene in the eye. There’s a tick in Gene’s jaw that speaks to him not being quite as confident as he’s pretending, and when Sam encroaches on his space and draws his hand behind his head, the sound of Gene swallowing is loud enough Sam hears it. 

Sam kisses Gene just as tender as he’d been kissed – exploring, tentative and curious. Gene winds his hands around Sam’s waist and draws him closer, makes the kiss go deeper. Sam’s heart kicks into an unsteady rollick and his chest goes tight with joyous anticipation. 

When they pull apart, Gene graces him with the smile he usually only gives after they’ve defied death.

“Alright then, my little deputy dawg?” Gene asks, raising his eyebrows comically. 

“Alright,” Sam agrees, smiling back.


	2. Chapter 2

**(things you said when you thought i was asleep)**

Gene’s been stellar at pretending to sleep since he was a child and truly perfected the skill during National Service. It’s a talent that’s got him out of beatings, bar fights, and bombings. It’s also turned into a habit, a thing he does just because – because talking is exhausting, because not saying what he wants to say can be even more draining, because even with Sam he feels the need to be on all the time. 

So, Gene’s doing the good ol’ thick-breathing-and-snuffle routine, lying there in the dark, not thinking much about anything except wanting to actually be asleep. Sam’s nearby on the chaise longue, definitely awake given the shallowness of his own in and exhalation, his persistent fidgeting. This is one of those times when Gene wishes he could get up and take Sam by the arms and shake, shake, shake until some of his nervous energy falls out. 

“Wish I could tell you this when you’re awake, but you’d probably have me committed,” Sam whispers across the dark. 

Gene hopes Sam can’t see that he scrunches his eyes tighter. He doesn’t want to hear any more of that time travel malarkey Sam thinks he doesn’t notice. It’s bad enough that Sam’s on a one-man quest to drive him bonkers, worse that it’ll be dragging him down to _his_ level. 

“I’m half in love with you,” Sam continues. “Sometimes maybe even more than half. Being with you makes me come alive and every time I think you’re gonna disappoint or betray me, you surprise me instead.”

Sam goes quiet after this, and Gene lies there, heart racing, working hard at making his lungs expand and contract at a reasonable rate for someone who’s deep in slumber. How’s he supposed to cope with that? A love confession he was never meant to hear? How’s he supposed to respond - or not respond, as the case may be. 

He doesn’t sleep until he sees the early morning, the dusky blue before dawn. He awakens, like a bear with a sore head, when Sam begins clattering about his flat, making breakfast. He can’t have slept for more than two hours. 

The little bastard’s made pancakes, with a lemon wedge and sugar. Gene stares at them through blurry eyes, doesn’t bother with the knife and fork, just rolls them up one by one and feeds them in his mouth like a cigar. His mother’s shuddering all the way in Levenshulme. 

“Truly, watching you eat is some kind of spectacle. You should charge admission.”

Now, Gene is not as cowardly as his enemies would say. There are even times he’s as brave as he claims to be. 

“Speaking of admissions, I heard you last night.”

Sam finishes cutting his first pancake into neat little triangles, each lightly dusted with sugar. “You what?”

“Heard what you said, when you thought I was sleeping.”

Sam has an excellent poker face. It’s pretty obvious he thinks Gene’s bluffing, trying to get a rise. He shrugs one shoulder. 

“Okay, then. I’m sure my sleep-talking was fascinating. Rambled about buying new pens or some such and touched on my deep hatred of all things Thatcher even though no one else yet can really determine why.”

Gene shakes his head. “No, really, I heard you. I’m just wondering, how do I make up the lost fraction? 

Sam’s eyes widen, infinitesimally. He slowly brings one of his pancake triangles to his mouth, slots it in. He chews, looking to the left of Gene’s shoulder rather than into Gene’s face. Maybe if he looked he’d see what Gene’s trying to project. It’s not only acceptance, it’s welcoming, it’s wanting.

Gene waits, but Sam’s not forthcoming. He stares down at his plate. 

“Sam –” Gene starts.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Sam blurts. “I meant like a friend. You know, an old friend, a close friend. Not – whatever it is you’re assuming.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Gene says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve said a shed-load of crazy shit in your time, but trying to claim a late-night love confession as a friendly gesture of good will takes the bloody biscuit.” He leans over, takes Sam’s wrist. “Listen to me, for once. You said you were half in love with me, maybe more. I wanna know, how do I close the gap?”

“Kiss me,” Sam says, challenging. He tilts his head back, squares his shoulders.

“Is that it?”

“It’s a start.”

Gene stands up from the table, pulls Sam up too. He strokes his fingers against Sam’s jaw. Sam’s holding himself still, like he’s bracing himself against unimaginable horrors – and Gene thinks he’s going to surprise him again, going to go against the rules and guidelines Sam’s made up inside his head about who Gene is and what he wants. 

Gene leans in, tilts his head, and kisses Sam on the lips. He kisses him like he’s thought about more than once, on dark nights, in private places, when he’s allowed himself. He moans, low, when Sam kisses back, sweet and tart like the pancakes they’ve been eating. 

They’re both breathing heavily when they pull apart. Sam opens his eyes slowly, gazes at Gene in wonder.

“I love you a whole lot,” Sam says, wry. 

“One kiss is all it takes, eh?”

“Apparently.”

Gene cradles Sam’s jaw, pats it gently. “Good, because I’ve loved you entirely too much for months now.”


	3. Chapter 3

(things you said at 1 am)

“You have pretty eyes.”

“And you are drunk, Sammy-boy. Positively sloshed, I’d say.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong, though.”

“You’re not, I absolutely agree with you, I’ve the prettiest eyes at the station, including all the plonks. I don’t think you’d be saying it without a lot of lubrication, is all.”

Sam snorts so hard he starts coughing, looks up blearily through tears. “You did that deliberately.”

Gene won’t admit to such things. He passes the whisky bottle over again and retrieves a cigarette from his inside pocket.

“No, you can’t smoke in ‘ere,” Sam whinges. “It’ll settle into the wallpaper and curtains and then I’ll be stuck with your scent, day in, day out.” He slurs his words a touch, waves his hand around in exaggeration.

Gene puts it away, only because he doesn’t want Sam’s miserying-on to give him a headache. 

“I sometimes think if it weren’t for me you’d be the loneliest little robot in the nuts and bolts factory,” Gene says, watching as Sam parses his words. Sam takes another swig of whisky, wrinkles his nose.

“Probably right,” he agrees. “You must like something about me, or you wouldn’t be ‘ere though would you?”

“You have,” Gene says, in perfect imitation of Sam a few minutes earlier, “The most kissable lips.”

Sam smiles, sloppy and sweet. “If you still feel that way tomorrow you can test them out, see if you’re right.”

*

In the morning, after Gene’s got a pain in his neck from Sam’s terrible little cot, Sam’s groaned himself to standing up from his armchair, and they’ve each downed two gigantic mugs of coffee, Sam taps his mouth. 

“Go on then,” he says; a joke, a wager.

Gene swoops in and makes good on it, kisses Sam hot and fierce, nibbles his lower lip until Sam’s giving a throaty, low hum. 

“My assessment was correct,” Gene says. He flutters his eyelashes – to menace, to tease. 

Sam quirks an eyebrow, smiles a secret smile. “I feel like you think you’ve won something here, and I’m almost regretting having to inform you that you have not.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong,” Gene insists. “Me winning doesn’t mean you’re losing. We’re equal victors.”

To push his point home, he kisses Sam again, and is very pleased when Sam ups the ante and pushes him down into his awful armchair, only to ravish him senseless.


	4. Chapter 4

(things you said when you were scared)

“It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. Don’t go losing your pretty little head over it.”

Gene plants his feet wide, does his buttons up methodically. He’s wearing his mantle of ‘extra strong’ and ‘hyper masculine’. Sam faces the opposite direction and rolls his eyes. There’s no irony or self-deprecation in Gene’s words. He’s as sincere as he ever gets. But the thing is, this is something he’s said before, more than once, and they always end up in this same place. It’s the kind of fun Gene wants, again and again, and honestly Sam doesn’t have a problem with that. Sam doesn’t need anything deeper than the occasional rough roll around in the sack. He doesn’t know why Gene thinks he’s going to protest for more.

*

“I don’t even _like_ you most days.”

“Fine, ‘cause I positively hate you today.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?”

*

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Gene says, a couple of weeks later, after they wasted some time they were meant to be surveilling on mutual masturbation. Sam wishes he could say he regrets the lack of professionalism, but he’s loose-limbed and sated, so no, he doesn’t. 

“That’s okay,” Sam answers. “Felt good.” 

Gene grunts in response, squares his shoulders, inspects his leather gloves. Sam stares at his fingers and smiles. When Gene sees him looking, he scowls. 

*

“You don’t have any kind of hold on me, dearest Samuel,” Gene barks, when Sam’s been trying to convince him that they should post Clive or Lytts or even Chris as an extra guard at the hospital where their key witness is located. The bobbies aren’t exactly doing a bang-up job of ensuring round the clock protection, and Sam’s worried, okay, because this has happened before, and Gene has proved that he can actually learn from mistakes. 

“I don’t expect any hold on you other than appealing to your common sense, Guv,” Sam replies. Gene’s eyes narrow and he punches Sam hard, twice. But he draws up a roster of extra protection, so… it’s one of Sam’s victories.

*

“You’re a persistent pain in my neck.”

“Sure that’s the correct body part?”

“Hey you, none of that filthiness ‘round here. What if someone heard you?”

“They’d know I’m pulling your leg.”

*

“I don’t know what to do about you,” Gene says. 

Sam sits between his legs, wincing when Gene firmly takes his jaw to move his wound into the light. Gene’s dabbing at the laceration on Sam’s brow, majestic frown of his own deepening the furrow on his forehead. 

“I know, I’m a menace.”

“You are, though, Sammy-boy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“D’you not give any consideration to the consequences of your actions?”

Sam shrugs, which pulls on several of his bruises and pulls a whine from the back of his throat.

“You great big pillock,” Gene intones, mouth set as he applies a plaster that’s probably going to be soaked through in half an hour. He wraps a blanket around Sam’s shoulders and makes him a tea. Sam wonders if this is as weird as it feels or whether he has concussion.

*

“I think you might be the best detective I’ve ever worked with, which is a sad indictment of the force if ever I heard one.”

“Same back at you, Gene.”

“You including ‘Hyde’ in that assessment?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

*

“I don’t think I can give this up.”

Sam’s washing his hands at his basin when Gene’s arms wrap around his middle. 

Sam stares at Gene in the mirror. Gene’s expression is – vulnerable, which Gene hasn’t looked near Sam too many times before. Sam suspects he’s rarely looked this way at all. “Who said you had to?”

“Doesn’t seem… what’s that poncy word you like to use? Sustainable.”

“It is what it is. We fight, we fuck. It’s a bit of fun, like you said at the start.”

“Except it’s more than that.”

“It is?”

“For me.”

Sam swivels in Gene’s hold, looks at him face to face. The only issue is he can’t meet his gaze yet, so he concentrates on his chin, his lips. Any second now, he thinks Gene’s going to cuff him round the head and mock the living daylights out of him for believing he could be serious.

But Gene is, it’s pretty clear, he means it.

Sam panics. He hasn’t any idea what to do. How’s he supposed to respond to Gene exhibiting real emotions?

“It could be for me too,” he mumbles, looking from Gene’s lips to his eyes. Gene’s eyes hold so much optimism, it’s almost blinding. 

*

“I don’t want you to think that just because you are my favourite I’m gonna play favourites.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

“Because this thing between us stays firmly between us.”

“Obviously.”

“You could at least pretend to be slightly put out, Sam.”

“But I’m not, I agree with you. This isn’t anyone else’s business. How we feel is for us and us only.”

“Oh yeah, and how do we feel, then?”

“In love, and don’t even try to deny it.”

“As you’d say, I’d never dream of it.”


End file.
